


the sky is bright with stars

by Lise



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: (sort of?), Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Introspection, Loki (Marvel) Has Issues, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Post-Thor: The Dark World, some people? impersonate their father?? to cope???, tfw you've been freaking the fuck out for years and suddenly get a break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 11:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21897466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise
Summary: After Malekith's defeat, Loki...breathes.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 249





	the sky is bright with stars

**Author's Note:**

> An anon on Tumblr wrote in talking about how weird it must have been for Loki in the first weeks after he started impersonating Odin. After all, for more or less the last three years he's been under a lot of almost continual stress - the quietest time he's had was in a cell. Then suddenly things are...better? He's alive, he's safe, no one's hunting him (at least not actively). I've always headcanoned that the three years Loki has between The Dark World and Ragnarok does a _lot_ for his mental health just for that reason. Having space, and time, and at least a modicum of security. 
> 
> And I might write something longer exploring that period of time, but until I do that...here's something short on that subject.
> 
> Enjoy, and if you're interested in seeing more from me I have the aforementioned [Tumblr](http://veliseraptor.tumblr.com), where I sometimes post fic that takes (in this case) ten months to post here.

The first thing Loki did as Odin was retrieve the Warriors Three and Sif from the dungeons where Odin had placed them. He banished Sif - partly to make an example and partly because she was most likely to notice anything off. The others he took some pleasure in assigning to menial and humiliating tasks as punishment for their treason.

They deserved it.

Heimdall had already vanished before Loki got around to calling him to account - just as well, since Loki wasn’t entirely certain what he would have done with him. Though it gave him the trouble of appointing a new watchman.

He squared away a few other matters, then, chest aching, retreated to privacy, changing back to his own shape and stripping off his clothing.

The scar in the center of his chest was ugly. Raised and livid, it looked barely healed, and felt like it too. Grimacing, Loki turned away: looking at it only made it hurt worse.

He shifted back into the All-Father’s shape - on the off chance anyone walked in, it wouldn’t do to be caught out - stumbled over to his bed, and collapsed onto it.

He only meant to lie down for a few moments. Instead, he fell into a dead sleep, so exhausted he didn’t even dream.

* * *

The next day was…odd. Everyone was walking gingerly around him, and it took Loki some time to realize that it was not suspicion but rather respect for - or perhaps fear of - the All-Father’s mourning. For his murdered queen.

The thought of Frigga felt like the Kursed’s blade in his chest all over again, twisting. He pushed the pain away, the grief away, though he knew it would come back eventually.

Ruthlessly, he knew it made his work easier. Settling into his new role would be simpler when any changes could be chalked up to the effects of grief. Loki hated himself a little for thinking it. But he still thought it.

There were a great many things that needed doing. Repairs from the Dark Elf attack. Soothing the panic that had resulted, and reassuring the people that the threat was dealt with - as it seemed to be. Naturally. That was what Thor was for.

Thor. Who returned to Asgard, which Loki had expected but not necessarily known how to deal with - only for Thor to deal with it himself by walking away of his own accord.

Loki felt the oddest twinge as Thor turned his back, and it was not of relief. He pushed that away, too.

* * *

For the first time in two years, no one was chasing him.

That fact sunk in slowly. After that first dreamless night, he slept poorly - woke up in the darkness with a knife in his hand at the slightest of sounds, only to realize what he’d heard was the call of an owl. Feeling a prickle at the back of his neck near constantly: the sense of someone watching over his shoulder. He scanned the sky every morning, looking for the shadow of ships approaching.

_There will be no realm, no barren moon…_

The Other’s voice. Dreams of the Void, of agonizing pain, of fear. Dreams of Thor returning, hammer in hand, eyes blazing with rage. Odin fighting his way free of the bewildering spells Loki had wrapped around him.

Days passed into a week. The vice around his chest loosened, ever so slightly.

Maybe, he began to think, just maybe, he’d gotten away.

Staring at his own face in the mirror, two doors closed between him and anyone else, he tried out the words: “I’m safe.”

They sounded wrong. False. And a sudden shiver of fear went through him, as though saying it rendered it immediately untrue, drawing the Norns’ cruel gaze back on him.

_Stay sharp. Stay wary. You cannot count on peace; cannot count on anything._

* * *

Two weeks after his return, Frigga’s loss hit him like a war hammer to the chest. It was the smallest thing that set him off: a drawer opened in the washroom, and a familiar scent billowing out. A familiar scent that dragged him, caught off guard, into memories.

He ended up on the floor, sobbing, his head on his knees, grief beating on his shoulders that he hadn’t let himself feel. The recognition that she was gone, _truly _gone, forever, and he’d never had the chance to say goodbye. His last words those of spite and anger. His last act to send her murderer in the right direction.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but of course she could not hear him. Could not hear anything, wherever she had gone (Valhalla, surely? Loki was not certain he believed in such a place, not anymore).

He wept until he couldn’t anymore. It was the first time he’d cried in two years, since his confrontation with Odin in the Vault, and it left his throat and stomach muscles aching.

He missed her. Missed her with a pain like dying all over again.

How was it _fair, _that he should live still and she should not? How was it _just?_

_Are you a child, to expect the universe to be just? Shouldn’t you know better by now?_

Suddenly, furiously, he wished that Thor was here. To share in his grief. But of course, if Thor were here, that would not be the outcome.

Loki rose, and swiped his tears away. No looking back. He could not afford to look back. Only forward. There was nothing behind him to return to.

* * *

Weeks turned to months. Thor did not return. Odin did not return. No ships came, no army to drag him back to pain and death. Asgard rebuilt, and no one seemed to doubt his charade. On the contrary, they were grateful. Even adulatory.

It was an addictive feeling. With no small sense of irony, Loki suggested a statue be built to commemorate the nobly deceased second son. In gold, perhaps. Wouldn’t that be a fine tribute?

Slowly, it began to sink in. For the second time in his life, absolutely no one was coming for him.

But this time it meant he was _safe._

The healed wound in his chest (through his chest) still ached. His dreams remained unquiet. He closed off Frigga’s private rooms and never ventured there.

But the wound in his chest was healed. His dreams didn’t cut so deeply. And when he had time to escape the burdens of rule (and Norns, he’d never quite absorbed just how many burdens there were, and how many were _boring_), he went walking in Frigga’s garden and imagined he could feel her presence still.

Maybe, just maybe, he was free.

* * *

_For now, _whispered the voice, deep down under his relief. _For now, but for how long?_

_The past always catches up._

_You’re living on borrowed time._


End file.
